by Julie Kriss
“Come on,” Dar said, zipping her coat. “It’ll be fun. Call up Josh. I bet he’s not even sick. He’ll probably come.”
My headache throbbed harder. I picked up my own coat from the coat rack. “The thing is, Dar, Josh and I broke up.”
Her nicely plucked eyebrows rose up to her hairline, but that was all. She blinked once. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I—” I stopped and stared at her. “You’re not shocked.”
“Sure I am,” she said, stepping forward and squeezing my shoulder. “I’m sorry, hon. Let’s go drink.”
“No, wait.” I pulled back and looked at her expression again. Dar was thirty, with dark blond hair and great makeup. “You really don’t look surprised.”
“Well…” She squeezed my shoulder again, uncomfortable, and dropped her hand. “You two just didn’t seem compatible, I guess.”
“What does that mean?” I was feeling a dark, awful twinge of panic deep in my chest.
“Well, you know.” Now she looked really uncomfortable and couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “You’re looking for something serious, and Josh wasn’t quite ready to settle down.”
There was a long, painful silence, as drawn out as a scream.
And it hit me. “Oh, my god,” I said. “You knew.”
Now she looked panicked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“How could you possibly know?” I said. “I mean, how could everyone know except me? Did he wear a sign?”
“Honey, it isn’t like that,” Dar said. “It was just…” She trailed off.
“Just what?”
“They, um…” Dar looked like she wished she could sink into the floor. “They weren’t very discreet.”
Which meant everyone knew. Everyone.
I looked around. Margaret was packing up her purse. Adam was locking the front doors. Gail, my manager, was locking her office and leaving.
It was Gail who gave it away. She caught my eye quickly as she turned to go—the first time she’d looked at me all day. Then she gave me a little apologetic wave and hurried away.
Everyone knew.
“You should go out with Dave in Client Management,” Dar said. “He’s divorced, and a single dad. He’s super stable, dependable, and cute too. He was asking about you at the last Christmas party. I think he likes you.”
I jerked on my coat and picked up my purse. “I think I’ll just go home.”
I hurried through the parking lot—it was raining again—and got into my car, slamming the door. I was breathing hard. How was this happening? And how had everyone at the bank known about Gina? Had she come into the bank or something? Was she a customer? I had no idea how they’d even met. When they’d met.
So hey, your asshole of a boyfriend is cheating on you, Evie Bates.
All of those nice people at work, and not one of them had cared enough to tell me. Even though he was a jerk, Nick, at least, had had the guts to say the truth.
It was infuriating.
Maybe you should fuck someone, his low growl of a voice said.
“Be quiet,” I said out loud.
Get someone to fuck you until you can’t stand up.
“Shut up,” I said to the empty car. “I’m not fucking anyone. I’m going home to bed.”
Come meet me if you want to work up a sweat.
And then: You’re not the kind of woman I fuck.
Maybe he’d found someone else already. Some woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model, loved anal and one-night stands, and had no baggage. Dirty, he’d said. That seemed like Nick’s kind of woman, instead of neurotic bank tellers who had quit Weight Watchers twice and sat alone ranting and raving in their cars.
Have some orgasms. You’re missing out.
Those muscles. That ass. That mouth, that fuck-me voice. New Evie never got guys like that. God, I hated him.
I should have a guy like that. Hot, muscled, and dirty. A few hours of no-holds-barred fun for once, instead of it always being about who’s acceptable, who’s long term. Just… fucking. Like Nick had said.
Except not with Nick.
The phone rang, startling me out of my crazy thoughts. “Are you kidding me?” I said when I answered, because Josh didn’t deserve hello.
“Evie.” Josh’s voice was slightly muffled, probably because his nose was swollen. “We have to talk.”
“No,” I said. “We really don’t.”
“I get that you’re mad. What I did was wrong. Just don’t say anything at work, okay?”
“People already know,” I said. “In fact, people at work knew before I did.”
Now he sounded panicked. “Who told? What did they say?”
For God’s sake. Why did he sound so freaked about a secret that was already out? “Ask everyone yourself. Goodbye.”
“Wait, Evie, wait! Just give me a minute. I fucked up, I know. But our relationship wasn’t working. You know that.”
That hurt. “It seemed like it was working to me. But then again, I guess I’m not very smart.”
“Evie. You and I didn’t have very much… spark.”
This day, this awful day, blew past my limit at a hundred miles per hour. The words were out before I could stop them. “I have plenty of fucking spark!” I shouted into the phone, my voice bouncing off the close confines of the car.
There was a moment of stunned silence—from both of us.
“Okay,” Josh said at last. “But I’m worried about you, because you left with that guy last night.”
“Nick?” I said.
“Oh Christ, you know his name. Did you not see what he did to me? That guy is violent and crazy. He nearly broke my nose!”
“You slept with his girlfriend,” I pointed out.
“It was assault!” Josh was worked up now. “First degree! I could have had a concussion or something! I could have called the cops! That guy is a complete fucking animal. Don’t you know who he is?”
“Am I supposed to?” I asked. “Is he a rock star or something?” I could kind of see that, actually.
“No, he’s not a rock star, for God’s sake. He doesn’t do anything at all.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t do anything. He has no job.” This, in Josh’s world, was a cardinal sin. “Gina told me all about him,” he ranted on. “He’s a spoiled rich kid. He lives off his trust fund. His own parents hate his guts. All he does is party—he does nothing but live it up. Stay away from him, Evie. He’s completely irresponsible and he has no respect for anything. He’s a loose cannon. He’s not the kind of guy you want to date.”
For a second, I almost said How do you know what kind of guy I want to date? Then I remembered that the kind of guy I wanted to date had been him. Until last night.
Strange. Nick hadn’t given any indication he was rich. His clothes certainly hadn’t given it away.
But I was sure Josh was right about this. If for no other reason than because Josh was so mad, and the only thing that could work him up like this was a guy who was cooler, better-looking, and richer—without working!—than he was.
“I thought Nick was hot,” I said, just to make Josh angrier. “All those muscles. And the way he punched you—definitely sexy.”
“Stop it,” Josh said. “I know what you’re doing, Evie. You’re trying to get back at me, and it’s childish. I’m just trying to help you.”
“Help me?”
“Nick Mason is scum. He’ll take advantage of you. Of your hurt feelings. You’re vulnerable right now.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said.
“Evie, come on, you’re smarter than this. You’d never stoop to date a guy like him. He’ll probably hit on you, because he’s that kind of jerk. I’m telling you, don’t do it.”
Josh didn’t know about Old Evie, because I’d never told him. Old Evie was my shameful secret, because Old Evie, in her day, had stooped pretty low. Josh, I realized now, would never have understood Old Evie.
Never in a million years.
“You don’t get a say in who I date,” I told Josh. “Not anymore. Maybe I’d like Nick to come on to me. Maybe I’ll say yes when he does.” If he does. “At least he isn’t a cheater, and he’s hot.”
“Evie, stop acting like a child.”
“Fuck you, Josh. I have to go.” I hung up.
Chew on that, Josh.
I’d implied something would happen between me and Nick, without saying anything outright. It would probably bug him for hours. It was petty, and I liked it. I was allowed to be fucking petty.
But the words kept going through my head as I drove home.
All he does is party.
He’s completely irresponsible.
A loose cannon.
You’d never stoop to date a guy like him.
He was probably right. I’d met Nick, if only briefly, and all signs pointed to a guy who was lazy, irresponsible, and completely spoiled. Not to mention rude and insulting. The kind of guy I absolutely should have nothing to do with.
But it had made Josh so mad.
Josh had no idea, but he’d just made Nick Mason sound like the perfect man.
Five
Nick
My brother’s house was in one of Millwood’s suburbs, on a street of one-story bungalows dating from the seventies. Most of his neighbors were factory workers and secretaries, and like me, Andrew didn’t fit in with his neighbors. But he had different reasons than I did.
I picked up two cups of coffee on my way and when I pressed the buzzer at his front door, I made sure to wave the cups in front of the security camera. There was barely a heartbeat before Andrew buzzed me in.
He was in his computer room, which used to be the living room, where some seventies family would watch TV. Now it was filled with expensive custom equipment and piled-up dishes. Andrew was at one of his keyboards, typing code, and he barely glanced up when I came in the room.
“You look like shit,” he said, going back to his typing.
I put the coffees down on the edge of a messy, overcrowded desk. “I didn’t realize it was a beauty contest.”
“Good, because you’d fail.”
“Tough crowd,” I said. “I guess I’ll just drink these two coffees by myself, then.”
“Fuck you, Mason,” Andrew said. “Give me one of those before I wheel over there and kick your ass.”
Andrew was my older brother, and my only sibling. He was a programmer. He was also in a wheelchair, since he was in a car accident five years ago at age twenty-three. This was the reason he lived in an old bungalow—because there were no stairs. If you think this is some sad story about a guy in a wheelchair, think again.
“You really do look like ass,” he said when I handed him his coffee. “What’s going on?”
I sat down and swigged my coffee. Andrew was wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt, four days’ worth of beard on his jaw. He lived alone and didn’t give much of a shit about his appearance. Kind of like me, except I had a Chihuahua and I could still walk.
Andrew was also the only person I talked to regularly, so I came out with it. “Gina screwed some other guy,” I said. “I caught them together and punched him. Now we’re over. Oh, and I’m stuck with her stupid dog.”
Andrew lowered his coffee and his eyes went wide. “Oh shit.” He paused. “You’re stuck with her dog?”
I glared at him. “You are such an asshole.”
“Okay, okay. I couldn’t help it.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that, man. That sucks.”
We were quiet for a minute. This was our version of an emotional moment.
“At least you punched him,” Andrew finally said. “Did he bleed?”
I flexed my sore knuckles. The anger rose up for a second, pure and red and hot. I’d thought I was done with it, but I needed a session at the boxing gym. “Yeah, he bled.”
Andrew swigged his coffee. His hair and eyes were darker than mine, his face thinner and more sharp because of what he’d been through, his body a little smaller, but otherwise it was like looking in a mirror. “I have to tell you, man, I didn’t think it would work.”
I looked at him, surprised. “You didn’t meet her.” I’d never brought Gina to meet Andrew—I’d never brought any woman, ever, to meet Andrew. I never even told women about him. When it came to Andrew, in my opinion you either earned it or you didn’t, and I’d never yet met the woman who’d earned it.
“No, but when you talked about her—which was almost never—it sounded like you didn’t even like her much.” He shrugged. “Maybe one of these days you should try meeting someone who is actually nice.”
I snorted. And now that word—nice—made me think about Evie Bates. Again. “The guy Gina screwed was cheating, too. I met his girlfriend. I felt bad for her, you know? I took her out for a sandwich.”
Andrew licked a drop of coffee from his lip and raised one eyebrow—a talent he had that I didn’t. “Uh huh,” he said.
“What?” I was instantly on the defensive. “What does uh huh mean?”
“You took the guy’s girlfriend out for a sandwich. Because that’s what you do, take strange women out for sandwiches.”
“I wanted to cheer her up.”
“Uh huh,” he said again. He was such an asshole. “You trying to sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“I took a woman out for a sandwich without trying to fuck her, Andrew. Not even a little.”
“So you’re going to try to fuck her next time, then.”
I shook my head. “Dude, she doesn’t even like me. There isn’t going to be a next time.”
He looked skeptical. “What does this girlfriend look like?”
I shrugged. “She’s a redhead. She looked like a redhead.” My brother was steepling his fingers together like a comic book villain and peering at me like he could read my mind, so I said, “Forget it, dickbag. She works in a bank. She’s too decent for me. I just felt bad because he fucked her over, that’s all.”
Andrew was obviously of my gene pool, because he said, “So go put dog shit on his porch or a laxative in his morning latte. Gina, too. They both deserve it. Then try to sleep with the redhead. That’s what I would do.”
“You’re a real role model, you know that?”
Andrew nodded solemnly. “I’ve taught you everything I know, little brother.”
“Mom and Dad would be so proud.”
We both laughed, because the idea of our parents being proud of either of us was ridiculous. Our parents had checked out after Andrew’s accident—it was, apparently, too much for them to handle. There were never two more useless people than John and Rita Mason. The only thing our parents were good for was money, and plenty of it. We’d come into our trust funds at twenty-one, and they’d thrown even more money at Andrew after his accident, because he made them uncomfortable. Me, they just hated.
So my brother had a scheduled caretaker, cleaners, groceries delivered, a home that was fitted for a wheelchair—everything except two parents who gave a shit.
“You need anything before I go?” I asked him.
He stopped laughing and scratched his nose. “The cleaning crew comes today, but the groceries don’t come until tomorrow, and I’m low on a few things.”
So I took care of it. This was what we did, Andrew and me. I helped him out with the stuff he couldn’t do, or couldn’t do easily. He hated it, and sometimes he argued with me, but in the end he always gave in, because he knew I’d do it anyway. He knew I wouldn’t quit.
Aside from taking care of Andrew, I wasn’t good for much. I’d dropped out of my first year of college after Andrew’s accident. I didn’t work, because I needed to help him, and who the hell wanted to work anyway? I sure as fuck hadn’t settled down. The first years after the accident had been so hard, and such a blur, that I’d kind of lost track of things. Now I was twenty-six, and instead of looking around and wondering what the hell I was
going to do, I avoided the topic by doing what I’d been doing pretty much nonstop for five years: partying.
It wasn’t that I had a lot of friends. Friends are people who know you, who really give a shit about you. No, I didn’t have friends—but I had acquaintances. I was rich, I was good-looking, and I was always looking for a good time, so the good times tended to find me. I’d started by blowing off steam a few times after the accident and the end of my college career, and somehow I’d never stopped. It was a rare night that I didn’t get at least one invite. And I usually agreed.
It wasn’t the alcohol that drew me—I could take it or leave it. It wasn’t the women either, though I usually had one hanging around. No, it was the distraction that I was addicted to. Disappearing into a crowd, letting it take over, becoming someone else—or no one at all—for a few hours, until I fell into my bed with exhaustion—that was what I wanted.
By the time I finished getting Andrew’s groceries, I had two different party invites in my texts. I accepted both of them.
I wasn’t going to think about Gina, or redheads in overalls. At least for a little while.
I went home to grab some sleep before the long night began.
Six
Evie
I waited two days before I showed up at the boxing gym.
I liked to think I was playing it cool, but I admit it—I had to work up my nerve. The place was in one of the crappier parts of town, tucked in the corner next to a strip mall, and I knew it would be full of sweaty, threatening men. I’d never boxed before; I’d never hit anything, ever. So not only would I look like fresh meat, I’d also look like the rank beginner I was.
But I went. I had to work all day at the bank with Josh, and the experience made me feel restless and mad. Nick was right; I wanted to hit something. It might be therapeutic. So I brought my gym clothes with me to the bank. Then, feeling weirdly like a criminal, I changed into workout clothes after work and snuck out to go to the boxing gym before anyone could see.